It Wasn't Love
by DanshiDerp
Summary: "It wasn't love. This mutual agreement that they'd reached was many things, but neither considered it to be love." Marco/Ace drabble, covers death and loss.


It wasn't love.

This mutual agreement that they'd reached was many things, but neither considered it love. Friendship, yes, but nothing deeper.

They would take watch together when it was each other's turn to do so; Ace always turned up with a blanket and sandwiches, Marco brought a newspaper.

They played together, messed around like friends should do, with the cruelest joke that had been played still standing at Marco bleaching Ace's hair.

They ate their meals together, and it became a reflex for the blond to grab Ace by his hair before he fell face-first into his food without even looking up.

They fought side by side, even when the other wasn't needed, and shared whatever loot they gained (after it being ok'ed by the old man).

They comforted Thatch together when he got turned down by a girl on Tapistria Island, buying him as many drinks as he wanted and parading down the streets with him, singing out of tune even though neither had had even a drop of alcohol.

Ace talked about his family, especially his brother, while Marco listened, not having anything he could remember to contribute. The conversation had turned to Whitebeard and his nurses, deciding which one would make the best mother for the crew.

They showered together rather than trying to go when no one else was around, often resulting in one or both covered in Thatch's aftershave or in Marco missing an eyebrow when Ace got a bit razor-happy.

They shared a room as well; Ace had decided that Marco's single bed was big enough for two fully grown men and had thus pushed him out on the first night, snoring and drooling all over the pillows. Marco had made him sleep on the floor ever since, but more often than not woke up to find himself on the floor and the other commander curled up under his duvet.

They kissed each other, the action being sparked after Ace admitted he'd never done it before. When he had tried to do it again the next morning, Marco had got annoyed, telling him that he'd only done it so his nakama didn't turn twenty without never having kissed anyone. Ace had burned a hole through his mattress.

Every crew member noticed when the first and second division commanders started avoiding each other; Marco fell asleep on watch duty, Ace stopped stinking of Thatch's aftershave and both were constantly in foul moods. No one tried to intervene, though; the male ego was a very delicate thing.

They fought it out several weeks later on deck, neither ever managing to damage the other, resulting in the fight getting more and more vicious and dangerous until Whitebeard had stepped in, shouting threats of demotion and no meals unless they packed it in or took it some place else.

The fight had resumed much later that night in a lifeboat hanging over the side of the flagship; neither man used their devil fruit powers in fear of breaking the craft and falling into the ocean, both fighting for dominance until Ace took advantage of his superior upper body strength and pinned Marco to the wooden flooring of the small boat. They had kissed again, roughly and passionately, as Ace gave his virginity to his best friend.

They returned to how they had been, spending all their free time together and managing to share a bed (with a new and improved fire-proof mattress) this time. Marco never displayed his affection in front of the other crewmembers and so neither did Ace, choosing to attack him the moment they were alone together.

They still didn't consider it to be love.

And then it was over, gone, finished. Ace left without saying goodbye as he followed after Teach, overcome by his hatred for his nakama, and Marco was left alone. He received the odd letter or photo from the other pirate for several months, only for them to stop completely one day. When they arrived at Marineford he saw him again, beaten and chained, on his knees beside that Marine bastard Sengoku.

He had been arrogant enough to declare to the whole of the Marines and Whitebeard's allies that he would not let anyone touch Ace, stupid enough to give his protection to Luffy instead of his brother and not close enough to take the attack that blew a hole straight through his nakama. He hated himself more than the Marine as he later took the same attack as Ace had, surviving it as if nothing had happened as he saved Luffy's life.

At the funeral he grieved for both his lost friend and his father in the form of silent tears and a blank expression, so completely different to those that he had shown at their times of death. He didn't stay long at the end, heading back to the ship that he had no pride in being the captain of.

Marco drank himself stupid that night as he had every night since their deaths, wondering yet again if a phoenix could die of a broken heart if nothing else.

The world looked different after losing the war. White faded to gray and red smoldered to shades of dull brown, making life lose its brilliance and passion. He should have been used to it, being the only one to live while everyone he cared for died around him... maybe it was time to stop liking people.

Some weeks after the funeral, Marco found the pale yellow shirt Ace had worn when he'd first arrived; it still smelled like him. The new captain of the Whitebeard crew curled up in bed with it, pressing it to his chest and face as he bit back tears, wishing for Ace's death to have been a nightmare and to wake up with him in his arms. He had told Luffy to accept it and to live for Ace rather than giving over to the grief, but now it seemed he wasn't able to do so himself.

And yet, he still didn't consider it to be love.


End file.
